As It Was in the Beginning
by Nymphean
Summary: There is a power much greater than magic built into the walls of Hogwarts. In a world of predetermined destinies, a millenium apart, two Gryffindors and two Slytherins will turn the course of fate on it's head. A timeless love story. HPSS, FounderSlash.
1. Ancient Yuletide

**A/N:** I know… I should be working on the other stuff. But… ugh… it's so hard with this miniscule attention span of mine. Anyway, this just came to me. I hope everyone enjoys… I'm really liking it so far. I've written the first 3000 words in the past two hours, and feel like I could go for another two right now if I wasn't shipping out to ma mere's house for the holidays early tomorrow. Heh… I'll probably do it anyhow.

Um… obligatory warnings… **HBP SPOILERS, SLASH, GENERAL TIMELINE-FUCKAGE** You know you want it…

**A Note Regarding Said Timeline-Fuckage:** It's not really fuckage. It's actually pretty ordered. Very ordered, in fact. This story will alternate by chapter between the two featured timelines. I'm updating both at once this time… I'm going to try to keep doing that, but I can't promise. Also, amount of time between events will not be consistent. Sometimes the gaps will be days, sometimes years. I'm going to try to keep consistency between the two timelines, though.

And finally, I am going to apologize for the bastardized English I'm using in the first timeline… I am not Chaucer. I cannot write in Olde English. Nor do I want to. So I'm going for slightly archaic and hoping it doesn't sound like Yoda on crack. Also, apologies for the shortness of this first chapter. As you will see by the second one, they will genereally not be so brief. Promise.

And finally finally, please review. I see you reading. Santa has a third list for those who review. I can't tell you what the people on that list get, but trust me, it's _good_.

**As It Was in the Beginning**

**A timeless love story.**

**Chapter 1: Ancient Yuletide**

Two tall figures stood outlined against the frozen sky, one behind the other, both silent as the trees that swayed below them in the frigid December wind. One was light, clad in a rich golden robe, waves of rich amber hair falling, mane-like, down his shoulders. He was a strong, broad figure, with a kindly face and eyes that housed a secretive twinkle. The other man was standing with his back to him, tall and thin and drawn, yet still impossibly imposing. His black hair and eyes matched his lush velvet robes, and were it not for his pale, luminous skin, he would have melted neatly into the dark winter sky. He did not see his companion.

"It is cold this night," the lighter one remarked gently, stepping forward. His companion did not flinch, but closed his eyes regretfully at being found.

"It was none too cold for you to follow me into the unfinished wing," He replied, not turning.

"Come away from that terrace," the lighter man said carefully. "The rails are not yet finished… you could fall."

"I will not," He said, his fingers fluttering dismissively at his side. His companion moved to stand beside him, looking out with a similar expression over the vast expanses of land before them. He was slightly shorter than the darker man, but not enough that he had to look up when he turned his face to him.

"What were you thinking of?"

The dark man did not take his eyes from the landscape as he replied, "That, someday, it will be magnificent." His companion smiled fondly.

"It is already magnificent. And it will only grow more so with the passing years."

On one side of the property was a young forest, the thin, new trees shaking in the wind beneath their dusting of white. "Perhaps," said the taller man, a wistful tone entering his voice, "I shall build a passageway…" The other man laughed.

"You and your fancies… secret passageways, hidden chambers… tell me, do you plan to live forever?"

Finally, a smile, and the dark man turned to face his companion. "If it takes that long." The shorter man laughed, luminous hair catching the moonlight as his head shook back and forth. He took a step forward, placing strong hands on his companion's shoulders.

"Well, we may _be_ here forever, preserved in ice, if we stay out much longer in this frightful cold!" Eyes met, shining, and then lips. The air between the two men heated exponentially. "Do let's go in… Helga has put some cider over the fire."

"I'd rather have some mead," the taller man said sourly, with no actual malice in his tone, as he turned to head inside.

"Salazar!" the other man laughed, adopting a scandalized air. He was met with a raised eyebrow. "All right… me too. But we shan't tell Helga."

"Of course not." He continued to head inside.

"Wait!" the dark man turned once more, a look of exasperation on his face.

"More yet from you?" he said with a smirk, only to be caught off guard as rough hands grasped the front of his robes and pulled him back again. Lips tangled once more in a searing kiss.

"Joyous Yuletide, Salazar." The dark man shook his head as his arms snaked around his companion.

"Gryffindor, you fool, I do believe I've grown fond of you."

Godric Gryffindor's merry laughter filled the incomplete wing of the unnamed castle as he started inside. "Come. They will be missing us."


	2. Boy With A Problem

**A/n: **Don't tell me Harry's out of character. I don't agree. Harry is seventeen in this universe, he's had things happen to him, and he's come into his powers and into himself. And furthermore, he is furious with Snape. Also, it is my opinion that, in order to grow up after having a very tragic childhood, one must have a few instances of acting very, very childishly. I will not be convinced otherwise. So… Harry starts really growing up.

I don't know much about Headmaster portraits. I made it all up. Makes sense to me. A little convenient, but hey.

A little note of no consequence: I like writing McGonagall. Don't know why. I just… love her.

For those of you who recognize the chapter title as an Elvis Costello song, good on you. The rest of you… don't feel bad. I don't listen to him either. Friggin' great songwriter, though.

Hmm. Review please!

**Chapter 2: Boy With a Problem**

It had not been easy to make Harry Potter see what was clear to the rest of the Order. The flighty would-be-savior of the wizarding world had begun his summer with grandiose plans for vengeance and heroism. Plans that were quickly squashed upon the activation of Albus Dumbledore's portrait.

"He was a Hogwart's Headmaster, Potter," Headmistress McGonagall had said with a measure of amusement. "Did you expect him _not_ to have an active memorial portrait?"

Harry still wasn't sure how the portraits worked. Most wizarding portraits that he had seen were infused with the personalities of those they portrayed, but the memorial portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses were somehow different. While other portraits could generally manage light conversation, the paintings in the headmistress' office seemed more like actual people, capable of complex thought, memory, debate. Dumbledore's portrait, once active, certainly seemed to be the same Dumbledore Harry had always known, minus the annoying offers of Lemon Drops (which Harry had begun to suspect were not quite as innocent as they had seemed). The trouble was that this Dumbledore calmly contradicted things that Harry knew to be fact. So it could not be Dumbledore.

"I keep telling you, Headmistress," Harry kept insisting, "Snape must have sabotaged the portrait before killing Professor Dumbledore. I saw him cast the killing curse with my own eyes. He murdered Dumbledore!"

"The circumstances surrounding Professor Dumbledore's death are very complicated, Potter," McGonagall would telling him calmly. "Trust in the Order. Know that we have all the facts, and that Severus Snape did not murder Professor Dumbledore in cold blood."

"I saw him!" Harry would inevitably shout. "I was there, the order should trust _me_ for a change!"

McGonagall never lost her cool throughout Harry's shouting, and in his calmer moments he wondered if she had inherited more from Dumbledore than his office and title.

It was after nearly a week of screaming matches and constant Order supervision (how would he ever escape capture by the Death Eaters if he couldn't even escape from his own side?) that Harry was finally sat down before Dumbledore's portrait and ordered to listen.

"Hello Harry." Harry stared unforgivingly at the portrait, on guard for tricks laid within by Snape. "Don't think about that," the portrait said calmly. Harry scowled.

"I wasn't aware that paintings could use Legilemensy," he said bitterly. He never had perfected Occlumency. Not that anyone could blame him now for how the lessons had gone, knowing the truth about Snape.

"I wasn't," the Dumbledore in the painting replied. "Harry, if you think that, after six years of watching you very closely, I don't know how to read your face when I am looking straight at it..."

And just like that, Harry met the blue eyes in the portrait and something fell into place. He felt his own eyes tearing up then, realizing that, although nothing in this world would ever bring Albus Dumbledore back to life, this portrait was genuinely endowed with the feelings, talents and personality of his mentor. "Sir—" Harry choked on a sudden sob.

"It is Albus, Harry," the former headmaster said kindly. "And there is no need for tears. As you can see, all is well."

For a moment, Harry could not say anything. "Did it hurt?" was what he finally asked.

"Not a bit," Dumbledore replied, smiling serenely. "It came later than I would have preferred, but it's all done now."

Harry was thrown off by this. "Don't you mean 'sooner'?" He asked.

"No, my dear boy." Dumbledore sighed lightly. "I suppose I had better explain. You see, I am afraid I misled you a final time before my death. I was certain before we even set out that night to find the locket that I would not be long for this world. The curse that infected me when I destroyed Gaunt's ring had steadily been taking over since the summertime. My death could either be slow and agonizing, or quick and painless. I am afraid, my dear Harry, that I chose to leave you earlier, in favor of the latter option. A coward's way out, I suppose, but I managed to do some good going out." The headmaster paused, resettling himself in the ornate chair he'd been painted in. "Harry, you must not blame Severus for my death. I would have died, whether he had done what he did on the tower or not."

"But he didn't know that!" Harry exclaimed. "He's a death Eater, and a spy! He-"

"He knew," Dumbledore said calmly, "The whole story. I confided in him, after he told me about an unavoidable vow he had sworn that involved my betrayal and execution. He was more than willing to break that vow to keep me safe, at the greatest personal expense. I saved him the trouble. _Do not_ blame Severus, Harry. You will need each other's help in ending this war."

"I will never work with him," Harry said stubbornly, resistant to what the portrait was telling him. "I can't. And he'll never work with me."

"Then you will both die, and the wizarding world will fall to Voldemort."

Harry glowered at a spot on the wall below the portrait. It all made sense, infuriating amounts of sense. Harry wanted to go back to blaming Snape for everything, to calling him an evil murdering bastard. But logically, he knew that he couldn't. Hermione would see things the Headmaster's way for certain, and even Ron would understand what the portrait was saying. He was cornered, and, worse than that, he was wrong. Harry felt like a stubborn child who had thrown a pointless, week-long tantrum, and he hated it.

"Don't feel badly, Harry," the portrait said with a smile. "I, for one, cannot blame you for your fierce loyalty to me, although I am not sure that I have always been worthy of it. I am sure the others will see it that way as well."

Harry nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He certainly hoped so.

ooOOOoo

By Christmastime, all had resumed to a relatively normal pace, although many things had changed. Hogwarts had indeed reopened that fall, and Harry, Ron and Hermione returned for their final year. Classes resumed, with most of the teachers remaining the same. Snape was blessedly absent, although this was of very little relief to Harry, who knew exactly where the man was and why he was absent.

In a fitting twist of irony, it had been decided that the safest place to house Snape until his name could be cleared with the side of the light was at Order Headquarters. Harry had laughed bitterly at the fact that two years before, the greasy git had flaunted his freedom in front of Sirius, and now he was forced to remain inside the very same house in which his ill-fated godfather had been trapped. Unfortunately, Snape's location meant that Harry had been forced to see the man over the final month of the summer, and would undoubtedly see him over the Christmas break as well, an event that he was not looking forward to in any way.

It was with a heavy disposition that Harry traveled to the old home of his Godfather at the end of December. The entire Weasley clan, minus Percy, would be present, as well as Remus and Tonks. The Delacours would be there as well—Gabrielle, Fleur's parents, and an older brother none of them had met. But out of all the pleasant people Harry expected to be spending time with this holiday, he could not stop thinking that Snape would be there. Snape, who had always hated Harry. Snape, the unyielding Slytherin Death Eater. Snape, who despite Dumbledore's insistence, Harry still thought of as a murderer and a spy.

As it turned out, it was three days before Harry saw hide or hair of Snape. The greasy git had managed to stay within his chambers while the other occupants of the house were stirring, doing god knows what. Harry, for one, was thankful that the Potions Master had the decency not to disturb their familial celebrations.

His luck ran out on Christmas eve, after Ron and Hermione retired to their rooms. The twins were off in some unexplored corner of the house, and everyone else was either asleep or locked away in their rooms waiting excitedly for the morning. Harry, who found he didn't have even the slightest interest in going to bed, sat in the library, reading. He looked up suddenly when Snape entered the room, and was taken entirely by surprise. The Potions Master looked withered, dried up, exhausted. Harry had assumed that he spent his days locked in his rooms, sleeping the daylight hours away, like a vampire. Evidently, he had assumed wrong. The man looked as though he hadn't slept in days. His usually dark eyes were now even further sunken into his head, and his face was thin and drawn. His hair was longer and greasier than ever. _He looks as though he's dying_, Harry thought to himself. It was the first time in his memory that he had been able to observe the Potions Master without the older man realizing that he was doing so.

It didn't last very long. It was as if Snape could feel Harry's eyes; he turned his head so suddenly that Harry almost jumped in his chair. Their eyes met instantly, black and green locking in an impossible union. They stayed like that for god knows how long, neither one willing to be the first to break away.

"Professor," Harry finally acknowledged. Snape made a tired gesture with his long fingers.

"I am no longer your Professor, Potter, a fact which I'm sure has been greatly celebrated in the halls of Hogwarts this term." They were no longer staring at each other. Snape moved to the other side of the room. "Do not address me as such."

"Fine, _Snape_," Harry said, unable to wring the venom from his voice. The older man scowled.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Potter, visions of sugar plums and all that?"

"My dreams haven't featured anything even approaching a sugar plum for a very long time now, Snape," Harry said. And then, more quietly, "A fact which might have been changed if you'd managed to teach me Occlumency properly."

Snape raised a lethal eyebrow. "You lost my help in stopping the Dark Lord from invading your mind when you invaded my privacy, Potter."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Excuse me for thinking that destroying the Dark Lord's plots is a bit more important than a twenty-year grudge against my father."

Snape rounded on him quickly. "It is not for you to decide what is important and what is not, Potter!"

"My father is dead, Snape. The Dark Lord is not. Out of the two, which one would _you_ say is a bigger threat to you?" Harry felt a thrill of victory at being able to match Snape's arguments. He had done a great deal of growing since they had last spoken (or shouted), and was determined not to let Snape make him feel like his intellectual inferior ever again. Snape was grasping a book, his knuckles white with rage.

"Get out, Potter, I am warning you…"

"Or you'll… what, exactly? Kill me like you killed Dumbledore? I'd like to see you explain _that_ one to the Order." Harry jumped out of his chair as the book Snape was holding flew into the headrest. Snape had his wand out, and was breathing raggedly. Harry held his won wand loosely at his side. "You wouldn't dare," Harry said slowly. "You send up one spark against me and the whole Order will be here so fast that you won't even see the green before it hits you. We both know it, so stop trying to scare me and put your wand away, before I use mine to do it for you." Harry felt exhilarated, liberated. He was finally able to say the things he'd always wanted to say to the other man, and he wasn't about to waste a single breath. "I'm not afraid of you, Severus Snape."

Apparently, Harry warning about harming him hit home, but it didn't stop Snape from yelling at him. "_GET AWAY FROM ME, POTTER!" _The man shrieked, his eyes dangerously wide. Harry could hear wild footsteps descending the stairs, voices in the upstairs hallway. Mrs. Black's portrait awoke and added to the screaming.

"Actually, Snape,' Harry said, his voice still level, "This is my Godfather's house. I fail to see how you can tell me where to go in a house that is certainly more mine than it is yours. So, why don't _you_ go away?" He smirked slightly. "Oh, I'd forgotten… you can't, can you? Doesn't feel quite so great from the other side, does it, Snape? I bet you regret mocking Sirius now, don't you?" By now, Remus, Tonks and a handful of Weasleys had appeared in the doorway. "Merry sodding Christmas, Snape," Harry said acidly before storming from the room, through the waiting crowd and up the stair to the room he was sharing with Ron. Ron spent the entire night going over how brilliant Harry had been when attacking Snape, while Harry lay quietly, nodding indulgently while his friend rambled on.

He didn't start to feel guilty until Christmas dinner, when he still hadn't heard a single sound from Snape's chambers. He pushed the guilt down with an extra helping of stuffing.


	3. 17 Times as High as the Moon

**A/N: **This story has a lot more hits than I expected it to… for that matter, more than any of my other fics as well. I'm glad you guys are reading!

Those who did review, thanks a huge bunch. Sort of a response to **birds of morrigan**'s review, but also a general note: the way the two storylines tie in with each other will be most evident when the fic is complete. It sort of requires the whole package to see it, but hopefully it'll become clearer as the chapters go on. There will be little things everywhere that tie in, but the big picture you're going to have to wait for. Good news is, I now have for this fic what I haven't ever had for any other fic, and that is a plan. Like, a real one, written down and everything. Gasps all 'round.

Anyway, sorry this took so long… I meant to have it up quickly but I wa out of town for the holidays. Blame mom. Anyway, the Harry/Sev counterpart to this chapter should be along soonish. Please enjoy. And, oh yeah… this chapter contains **SEX**. Betcha thought you had to wait for that, hm? Sorry, but I will not be pornin' it up in this fic… mostly because with my luck if someone's gonna get caught doing it, it'll be me. So sex will be… achem… tastefully done (tee hee, _done_).

So yeah. Enjoy.

**Chapter 3: Seventeen Times as High as the Moon**

**1 Year later- Autumn, 991 AD**

A full moon shone through an ornate window of green, yellow, crimson and blue stained glass. The four colors fused and blended across the naked back of Salazar Slytherin as he bent sinuously over his lover, sensitive tongue tracing a slick path across the bronzed skin, made even more radiantly golden by the light of the dying fire in the corner of the room. Salazar opened his palms and splayed long, pale fingers across the firm chest, marveling in the difference between their skin; himself a contradiction, white and black all at once, Godric radiating with every imaginable shade of gold. He raked his fingers down his lover's body, lowering himself onto the other man.

"Mine," he whispered possessively. The other man shuddered beneath him.

"Salazar…" whether it was a prayer or a plea, Salazar could not tell, but he raised himself ever so slightly again and grabbed the back of Godric's head, thrown back in glorious abandon, prying it up towards him. Their eyes locked.

"I want that you should look at me," His black hair swept the sensitive skin of his lover's neck as he shifted slightly.

"If ever I _could_ turn away," Godric said in a quiet but steady voice, "I should find it hard to think of a reason."

There was something bestial in Salazar that night. Whether it was indeed the full moon taking it's odd effect, or some other unexplained force, he could not tell, but something was driving him to a point beyond which he'd never seen before. He could tell from the heat between them that Godric felt it too, the animalistic tug in the deepest part of him, urging them on. He shouldn't have been surprised, then, when with a soft grunt and a feral grin his lover flipped him over on his back and landed on top of him, their positions reversed. The golden man brought his head down on Salazar's neck, kissing and tasting, strong hands balled in his long black hair. Salazar pushed him back with some effort.

"Not tonight," he said with a razor grin. "Tonight I need—"

"Tonight you need for _me_ to do the work," Godric said quickly, cutting him off, accentuating his point by rubbing hard against his lover. "You do entirely too much work as it is."

"You've not shown any objection thus far." Salazar hissed as a hand traveled towards its goal. "Not tonight." He finally succeeded in returning them to their original positions. He waited a moment until he felt his lover relax slightly beneath him, and then he began to rake his hands over the golden skin once more. Heat built higher and higher, pulsing vitally within Salazar until he could wait no longer and took what he wanted swiftly and roughly, delighting in the ecstatic noises that swirled around them, set loose from both their throats.

When it was over Salazar collapsed and rolled off of his lover, laying on the bed beside him. Both men were bathed in a fine sheen of sweat that glittered in the light of the dying embers and the moon through the stained glass high up on the wall behind them. There was something searching in Godric's eyes that made him uneasy. He still hadn't looked away.

"You are Occluding your mind," the golden man said, staring up into his lover's black eyes. There was a frozen moment where neither man moved.

"I am sorry," Salazar said, feeling himself come flooding back as he apologized. Instantly, he saw the past few minutes as if through a stranger's eyes, and he felt ashamed. "I did not mean to." He opened his mind to Godric who, he noticed, did not attempt to enter it.

"It is your right to deny me access," Godric said, his words carrying an obvious double meaning. "But I wish, for both our sakes, that you would not." Salazar grasped his lover's hands.

"Sometimes I cannot stop what comes naturally to me."

"If you have the desire to, it seems to come with ease. I have seen you do it."

"Godric…" Salazar looked deep into the honey-colored eyes. "Trust that I would never want to bring any harm to you."

Godric shook his head slightly with a wistful smile. "That is just the trouble. I do trust in you, and far too willingly. And that is why your need for dominance is so unsettling. Here…" He gestured around the room, "I do not think I mind so much. Yet I cannot help but wonder what will come of us attempting to govern this school that we are about to open as a team. I feel that I am open to compromise. But you, Salazar…" Godric looked his lover in the eye, "Can you tell me in all honesty that you can do the same?"

They were sitting on the mattress now, fine sheets pooled around their bodies. Salazar's hands ran up and down Godric's arms, caressing them as though precious artifacts kept secret and held dear. He shifted so that his legs were touching his lover's, anxious for as much skin to come into contact as possible. This was not a carnal desire, as before, but a needy yearning, a want born out of something much deeper than lust. The dark man raised his fallen eyes again to meet his lover's.

"This castle has been created from our love," he said vehemently. "As long as it is standing, so will our love stand, as strong as brick and mortar, stronger still… woven into these walls like so many spells. For that, I feel that I can do whatever must be done."

"It is not just me, Salazar," Godric said quietly. "You may submit to me, out of love, but what of Helga, and Rowena? We four must work together if this institution is to succeed." He paused. "I will not always allow you to have your way. What if there comes a time when we must stand against each other?"

Salazar cupped Godric's cheek with a slender hand. "It is both brave and foolish to confront such an undesirable event before we know if it will even occur. Peace, now… if what you are saying comes to pass, then we shall meet it as we always have the obstacles that stand in our way. With faithfulness, logic, cunning and bravery. And we shall prosper." He kissed his lover briefly. "I shall always love you. That shall be the very last thing that I let go of."

Godric smiled and allowed himself to relax. "Then I shall let go of these thoughts. Forgive my doubting thoughts… perhaps it is the moon."

"You cannot lay blame on the moon, Godric. Next you will be claiming to be one of the Lycan."

"Beware. My bite has horrifying symptoms." He sprang suddenly, pinning Salazar to the mattress, hair falling like a mane—or was if a halo?—around his broad, handsome face. He bent his head in a searing kiss, ending it with a soft bite to his lover's bottom lip.

"For you," Salazar said, half-laughing, half-gasping, "I would endure."


	4. Inch by Inch

**A/N:** Yes, I know. I said soon, what I meant was later. I'm really sick, so I'm going to keep this short and go to sleep: this chapter is much longer than the others. I hope to make most of them this length from now on. I'm working really hard in the real world right now, so I'm trying to keep updates frequent. I hope to continue doing so. Please bear with me. As always, reviews help a lot… if I know you want more, I'm more likely to give it. I know you're reading, so please put your two cents in and tell me how you like it. That would be a great help right now.

Anyway, off to slip into a drugstore-drug-induced sleep. Please enjoy!

**Chapter 4: Inch by Inch**

**One Year Later- Autumn 1998**

The first thing Harry had done upon moving into number twelve Grimmauld Place after his graduation from Hogwarts was destroy that blasted locket. After puzzling long and hard over the fake locket he and Dumbledore had found when they'd gone searching for Horcruxes in his sixth year, Harry finally remembered seeing an eerily similar relic in the junk they'd sorted through when Molly had forced them to clean the place. With very little trouble, he'd located it, and with only slightly more trouble and a great deal of care, he'd destroyed it. The second thing he'd done was convert the old servant's quarters ("dungeons," Hermione said angrily) into a much more livable but still very well protected room in which Remus could safely transform. It wasn't strictly necessary for Remus to be behind bars during the transformation any longer; Snape's Wolfsbane potion had seen to that. But Remus still preferred to be imprisoned on the night of the full moon, "just in case".

During the summer months, Harry had taken to staying with Remus on the night of the transformation, on the other side of the bars, reading or plotting or sometimes just thinking quietly. The new dungeon was in the basement, but Harry had made sure it was very well renovated. The bars were state-of-the-art, magically reinforced. On Remus' side of them, the floor was of a very durable tile, which the werewolf could not scratch or break. On Harry's side, there was a thick rug. All the dampness and chill had been removed by magic.

To his credit, Snape had been working very hard on developing the Wolfsbane potion, and Harry had to admit that he could see the changes in Remus. The Werewolf had been deteriorating at a rapid pace, even with the original Wolfsbane potion to ease his transformations. Over the preceding year, his hair had gone from being shot through with ample amounts of gray to a pure, even white. The lines on his face had deepened greatly, making him appear a good deal older than his forty-two years. After the full moon, Harry could sometimes hear his joints creaking and popping when he stood up or moved around the old house. Although Remus would insist it was nothing, Harry had begun to seriously fear for his friend's life.

When Snape had presented the improved Wolfsbane, Harry had watched and tried not to be skeptical as Remus hungrily drank down the potion. It was the first sign he'd seen that his friend was getting desperate. For all Remus' denial of his condition and his gratefulness at being allowed more time than his best friends, Harry knew that he did not feel ready to die, and he in turn was unwilling to lose the closest thing to a father that he had left, not to mention the only friend who could truly understand his loss.

When the potion had actually worked, easing Remus' transition even further Harry felt an old guilt come creeping back to him. He supposed he should thank Snape, as Remus had, but he still couldn't bring himself to say more than the occasional word to the man. Remus has improved exponentially in the three months since then, and Harry began to hope that his friend might, eventually, recover the health he had lost so rapidly. In the wake of his happiness at his friend and mentor's improving condition, Harry noticed his hatred of the Potions Master beginning to fizzle, leaving a dull resentment in its place.

It was three days before Hallowe'en, and Harry found himself cloistered in the mansion as usual, riffling through the seemingly endless library in hopes of finding something that would help him identify the last two Horcruxes. He was certain now that there were seven in total. Three of them – the Ring, the Diary, and the Locket—had already been destroyed. Harry was positive that Hufflepuff's cup was a Horcrux, as well as the serpent Nagini. He was sure that Voldemort had entrusted at least one piece of his soul to an animate creature, one that, while mortal and fallible, had the ability to escape if necessary, changing locations and hiding places if need be. Harry already knew that he would save the serpent for last, as she would inevitably be the hardest to reach. That left two pieces of Voldemort's soul in vessels that, so far, Harry had no clue how to identify. For months, he had been at an impasse, unable to come up with any ideas that held water. Hermione, Ron and Remus had been researching with him around the clock, to no avail. The last two pieces of Voldemort's soul could be anywhere, from a heavily-guarded relic in a museum to the toe of Harry's shoe.

To make matters worse, Harry was bored to death of researching. He was not Hermione, as he had finally shouted at the bushy-haired young woman the other day, and he did not find endless hours of scouring ancient tomes to be particularly thrilling. He would almost rather be brewing potions with Snape.

As if cued by Harry's wandering thoughts, the morose Potions Master strode through the double doors to the library, carrying a steaming cup between his spidery fingers. Remus looked up with one eyebrow arched, his nose twitching slightly.

"Before you ask, wolf, yes, it is different. I've made some more changes."

Remus nodded. "I can smell the Murtlap more strongly now."

"No doubt." Snape set the cup on the table. Remus reached for it, and Snape lunged, grabbing his hand. Harry was on his feet, but relaxed and took his hand off his holstered wand when Snape released the werewolf. "_Not yet_," the Potions Master said sharply. "It has to cool to a very specific point. I will tell you when." Snape kept his eyes on the cup. "Now," he said, mere seconds later. Harry rolled his eyes and pretended to look back down at his book. Remus drained the cup, wincing slightly as the still-hot liquid slid down his throat.

"Thank you, Severus," he said earnestly. Snape nodded, and Harry expected him to sweep from the room without another word, as usual. Instead, he stopped in the doorway.

"Lupin, I've had a thought," He said calculatedly. _Yeah, sure_, thought Harry, _I'll bet it came to you right this minute_. "It seems to me," continued the Potions Master, "That if I am to make the proper adjustments to your potion, perhaps it might be beneficial for me to witness the actual, ah— "

"I understand," Remus said, unsmiling and resigned. You may accompany Harry tonight. And don't worry… everything is very secure, it's perfectly safe."

Snape nodded, an odd look in his eyes, and left the room. When he was out of earshot, Harry looked up at Remus as though he were insane.

"Remus, are you sure it's a good idea to—"

"Positive, Harry." Remus still did not look pleased at the thought of Snape witnessing his transformation, and Harry pursed his lips in disapproval.

"He doesn't have the right," Harry said angrily, making Remus raise on white eyebrow in question. Harry sighed and explained. "He's asking you for something that obviously makes you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you owe it to him to say yes."

Remus smiled a little. "Harry, while I admire your fierce loyalty and protection, I assure you that I am not doing this because I feel I _owe _Severus anything, although it is clear that I do. Severus Snape is a _Master_ in his field, Harry, and as such, he is dedicated completely to furthering that field. He always has been. And while I do not even begin to assume that I am anything more than a test subject in his eyes, I do believe that his intentions are of the best kind possible, for him at any rate. He is spending more time and energy than I ever could have dreamed of on perfecting this potion, and I can tell you, Harry, that he _will_ do it. It may not be in my time, but perhaps someday, if I help in whatever way I can with the testing, those who are unlucky enough to be bitten will never have to suffer what the werewolves of today suffer every time the moon is full." Remus' speech left him looking slightly exhausted; Harry, who had never heard his friend speak so openly about his curse, felt deeply ashamed of himself for thinking of his rivalry with Snape above Remus' best interests.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to lose sight of what's important… I want to help you in any way I can." At this, Remus broke into the most honest smile Harry had seen from him in months.

"You know," he said, looking fondly on the only child of the Marauders, "In this past year, Harry, you've turned into the man that James was becoming when he died. Your father would be very proud of you."

Since entering the wizarding world, people had been telling Harry that his father would be proud, but from Remus, the words actually meant something. Trying very hard to hold in his emotions, Harry rounded the table and embraced the last Marauder. "Thank you, Remus," he said, not crying, but close.

oooOOOooo

Remus sat behind the bars, looking as anxious as Severus had ever seen him. He sat very still, although the occasional muscle spasm betrayed his outward poise. He was entirely nude, with the exception of a pair of white underpants, which had been sacrificed for modesty's sake. Severus had suspended a small, leather-bound notebook in the air before him, as well as an enchanted quill that would record his observations. He paced at an easy tempo before the reinforced bars. Behind him, he knew, Harry sat in a chair, watching with those sharp green eyes of his. Severus wished fruitlessly for the boy to go. He knew it would not happen.

"How do you feel, Lupin?" He asked, trying his best to temper his voice with a little kindness. Yes, he was anxious, having almost been mauled to death some 25-odd years ago by the thing this man was about to become, but it was doubtless Lupin was anxious as well. He didn't want to cause the man any additional discomfort, no matter what Potter might think.

"Stiff," Lupin said analytically. "That's normal; my joints are realigning for the change. My muscles are aching in pretty much the same way as always, but…" He furrowed his brow and seemed to be looking inward for a moment. "Hm. My skin…"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your skin what?" he urged. "Tell me, while you can…"

"It usually burns as it starts to stretch," he said slowly, "But it's… well, it's _not_."

"At all?" Forgetting his nervousness, Snape got closer to the bars, squinting to take in the appearance of Lupin's pale, bare skin. It did, indeed, look as though it was stretched painfully across his back and shoulders, which Severus could have sworn were not that broad. The werewolf took a quick breath, and then looked up in confusion.

"Ha," he said contemplatively.

"What?" Severus couldn't help the hint of excitement in his voice. This could be the breakthrough he'd been looking for. The quill scratched madly at the notebook.

"The bones in my hands and feet are starting to lengthen," He said, still clearly examining the feeling, "But my skin doesn't feel like it's going to tear. That's…" the harassed man almost smiled, "That's actually quite the comfort. _Ah_!" Severus jumped back as the man in the cage doubled forward, a pained expression on his face. "_That_," he hissed out bitterly between gasps, "_Is more like it_." Severus watched in horror as Remus Lupin writhed in pain on the floor of his custom-made cage. He stole a glace at Harry, who was watching the werewolf with an impartial mask. The only thing that betrayed him were those eyes, luminous and green and shining with something… rage? Pity? Tears?

A few more minutes of what, to Severus, looked for all the world like an innocent being subject to the Cruciatus curse, and Lupin was no more. In his place lay a pale, whimpering, wolf-like creature. Severus eyed the creature with morbid fascination. He had seen this werewolf before on more than one occasion, but not like this. There was no snarling or clawing, although there had been plenty during the transformation. Just extremely labored breathing and the occasional pitiful whimper. After a few moments, the wolf raised it's head to look at Severus, with something of a nod. Severus nodded slightly in return.

"He can understand you," Harry said suddenly from directly behind him. Severus hadn't heard the boy get up, and he spun around rather suddenly to face him, although he doubted the boy would notice his surprise. "If you have anything else to say…"

Severus furrowed his brow and turned back to the cage. "I can see I still need to make some changes… if you can try to remember what felt different and how in the morning, that would make things a great deal simpler. For now, I shall leave you with Mr. Potter for company… I'll try to figure out what I can adjust with what I know so far." The werewolf lowered it's head at this in what seemed to be another nod, and then closed it's eyes and curled it's head under it's mammoth paw. Severus turned to leave.

"Snape, wait." He turned again to face the boy, this time more slowly.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I…" Harry seemed to be having a spot of trouble with his words. Finally, he looked up at his former Professor. "I would like to help with the Wolfsbane potion, in whatever way I can. Even just to learn how to make it… if it would help Remus."

_You DO have a hero complex, don't you Mr. Potter?_ Severus thought, smirking internally. He did not know what possessed him, but he looked the boy up and down once and said, "Put on a some work robes and make your way up to the lab."

oooOOOooo

"I need you to prepare this," Snape said, placing something that looked like a tentacle from a sea anemone on Harry's chopping board.

"How?" Harry asked, examining the thing.

"Quarter it lengthwise, then quarter the quarters, and then slice it on the diagonal, towards you, starting from the bottom. It is very important that you do it in that order." Harry nodded, and began to slice the thing. A tiny bit of the juice slipped into a split in the dry skin on one of his knuckles. Harry hadn't even noticed the tiny cut had been bothering him, but as the juice touched it, there was an immediate and familiar soothing sensation. He raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't think anyone used the Murtlap tentacle in its pure form," Harry said conversationally, as if he'd known what the thing was all along. Snape did not look over, but one dark eyebrow raised fractionally.

"They don't," he said bluntly, "Generally. It would be very costly to go about making common salves with pure Murtlap, and in most cases, completely unnecessary. But in this case, I thought it imperative to use the strongest ingredients I could find." He was curious as to how Potter knew to identify Murtlap. As far as Severus knew, he'd only ever had it administered to him within a potion, where it's effects would be very hard to pinpoint. "Did Slughorn teach you about Murtlap?" He asked casually. Harry smirked.

"Not quite," he said. The eyebrow raised again. "Hermione," Harry said by way of explanation. "She suggested it in fifth year after my detentions with Umbridge got particularly… unpleasant." He turned his hand slightly towards Snape so that the older man could see the faint scars left behind from Umbridge's punishment.

"The greatest display of incompetence in the history of that school," Snape muttered, turning back to his potion. Harry was fairly certain that, for once, Snape wasn't referring to him.

"Done," Harry said, setting down his knife. Snape inspecting the dissected Murtlap tentacle with a careful eye.

"Well done," he said without looking at Harry, who almost fell over at the sound of those words from that mouth directed at him. "I'll need twelve pieces, set those aside, bottle the rest. Do you know how to cast a Stasis charm?"

"No," Harry said as he carefully separated the necessary pieces for the Wolfsbane potion. Snape nodded.

"I'll show you after I'm through stirring this. If you're going to be brewing this potion, you should know how to properly preserve its ingredients."

Harry eyed his former professor. "_Am_ I going to be making this potion?" he said without any hint of malice. Snape spared him a quick and level glance but stayed focused on the potion.

"I believe that someone other than me should know how to brew it, yes," Snape replied, speaking around a catch in his throat. "In case anything should… happen to me." Harry laughed a little bitterly.

"If it's an insurance policy you're looking for," He said in a dark tone, "I think you may want to choose someone else."

At this, Snape fixed Harry with an intent look. There was a nonchalance in Harry's voice that made it seem as though he had embraced the idea of his own death, but a hint of fearfulness stirred just behind those clear green irises. Snape turned back to his potion. "You are not going to die, Potter," he said quietly. Harry snorted softly.

"Oh yeah?" He started to bottle the leftover Murtlap. "What makes you so sure?"

Snape's expression was unemotional, and Harry couldn't tell what the older man was thinking, which was really nothing new. "You're famous for living, Potter. It's your gimmick. I doubt any of us would allow you to give it up so easily."

This time Harry almost laughed in earnest, and had to stop himself consciously from examining the strangeness of working companionably beside Snape. "You've always hated me for that, haven't you?" He said before he realized he was saying it. Snape sighed, changing the direction he was stirring as he dropped in the Murtlap piece by piece.

"It was not for that that I hated you, Potter," he said, sounding as though it was quite difficult to admit. "I hated that you invaded my privacy, that you refused to take direction from me when I clearly knew what would help you best. There was a time, after that, when I truly did hate you."

Harry felt a rush of embarrassing heat in his cheeks. He could admit to himself now that Snape was right about those things, and he felt like he'd been a stupid child over them. "But before that," he said, careful to keep his voice level and clear of resentment. "Before everything that happened in my fifth year, you still hated me. You never seemed to mind making my life as difficult as possible." Snape had stopped stirring the potion and put the spoon down, and he turned to Harry, an unfamiliar look on his face.

"I am a Death Eater, Potter," He said clearly. "My life is not my own. Every move I made at that school, I made under intense scrutiny. Do you honestly believe that, even if I had taken a liking to you, I would have been allowed to treat you with anything milder than extreme disdain?" Harry thought about this for a moment. It _did _make perfect sense.

"So it was for his sake then," he asked, careful not to use the dark lord's name, knowing how it would set Snape off. "You _had_ to act that way towards me…"

"Not exactly," Snape said, sounding almost amused. "It was not a difficult acting job on my part… I genuinely disliked you, Potter. And then I genuinely hated you."

"And now?"

Snape quickly turned back to his potion, examining it closely. "There are those in my life who deserve hatred much more than you, Potter. It was wasted on the wrong side."

Harry pause, thinking about what he was about to say, and decided to try it. "Have you thought that maybe hatred itself is the waste?" Snape gave an ironic little chuckle.

"Many times. I am a very old dog to be learning such new tricks, however. But believe you should examine that thought further. It could be an important point in your battle against the Dark Lord. His entire being is built of hatred. If you can strengthen yours with something else…" Snape trailed off, looking slightly put off that he had rambled on about this in front of the boy. Harry was inexplicably unwilling to let the conversation die, with it this odd new connection with the man.

"Dumbledore wanted us to work together," he blurted out without a hint of eloquence. "He said," he finished lamely, "before he died, and after." Snape nodded.

"I was under the impression that we were working at this very moment," He said without looking at the young man. Harry had to crack a tiny smile.

"As much as what we're doing is a very good thing, I don't think this is what he meant."

"No," Snape said in his own particular detached way, "But it's something."


	5. The Calm Before

**A/N: **We'll get more of Rowena and Helga later. They're kinda being sidelined right now, but they'll factor in more later, if everything goes according to plan.

In this chapter I introduce some OCs. I apologize to those of you who don't like original characters in your fanfic, but they are completely necessary. Arethusa is bound to get some sneers, and I know that… But she's not a Mary Sue, and you'll see why she's important. I want to stress that, for the most part, these OCs will not be featured in this story.

I'm going to try to keep updated about once a week. It's slow going these days, but I'm going to try and stay regular with the updates if I can. Stay tuned.

**And to all Canadian readers over age 18:** Please please PLEASE vote on Monday the 23rd. If you have gotten to this point in this story than it is certain you don't want the Conservatives to win this election. And they will if those who oppose them do not vote. So do it. I know this is not related to fic in any way, but I figure I've earned the right to a public service announcement in my own work. Thanks!

Enjoy!

**Chapter 5: The Calm Before**

**Summer, 992 AD**

"It shall not work!" Salazar pounded his open hand on the thick wood of the table, glaring at his three companions. "I tell you, this is a fantasy world that you have dreamed up. There is no way we shall succeed."

"We have already decided, Salazar," A small, winsome woman with long yellow hair said evenly. "We have eight and twenty young students arriving within the next moon, and seven of those children have at least one muggle parent. We cannot turn them away now."

"Helga is right," Godric Gryffindor said, eying the other man sharply. "You have raised this point a number of times, Salazar, and each time we have agreed against it. Now is certainly not the time…"

"And when is, Godric? When the muggles have succeeded in purging our kind from this earth? Is the unrest between our worlds not one of the reasons for creating this institution?" Salazar looked stormily around the table, daring his companions to speak against him. The fourth occupant of the table, a tall, angular woman with delicately arranged dark hair, sighed resignedly.

"I had not wanted to approach this subject," she began, speaking carefully, "but it appears as though we are left with no other option. I have been considering Salazar's objections over some time now, and believe that there is something we are not taking into account which we really must." Salazar narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised by this unexpected show of support. The woman returned his expression with a tight lipped grimace. "If I may, I would like to propose something," She said to the entire group.

"Go on, Rowena," Godric said, listening attentively. Rowena Ravenclaw nodded and cleared her throat.

"While I _do not_ agree with Salazar's protests against muggle-born wizards and witches, I can see how many of our kind might. I think it is important that everyone involved with this school feels that their beliefs and perspectives are equally represented, especially by it's founders," she said, adding, "Us," with a small smile. "It has become increasingly clear that we shall never agree on this point. So I would like to propose a way in which I hope we shall all feel our beliefs have been adequately acknowledged within the walls of this school."

"And how do you imagine this would ever be possible?" Salazar asked with a slight scowl. Rowena raise a dark eyebrow at him.

"Patience, Salazar, I am getting at it." She pulled a parchment from the floor beside her and unrolled it on the tabletop for everyone to see. It was divided equally into quadrants. In the top right quarter was written, in Rowena's neat calligraphy, 'Gryffindor House', in the left, 'Slytherin House', with 'Hufflepuff House' and 'Ravenclaw House' written below them. The other three occupants of the table regarded the parchment with interest, while Rowena looked on, a ghost of a smile on her face. "The Hogwarts House system," she said grandly. "It assigns a score of the students to each of us, by virtue of their personalities, family heritage, work habits and the like. Each house will have its own distinctive features. Students from different houses shall be encouraged to work together, we shall continue with classes as planned, but the individual houses will live separately, with each of us governing a house." There was a heavy silence around the table as the other three founders considered this new idea. Finally, Helga Hufflepuff smiled and nodded her head slowly.

"Yes," she said, "I believe this idea holds a great deal of merit. Splendid thought, Rowena." Ravenclaw gave a small smile and reclaimed her seat. Godric Gryffindor also nodded his agreement.

"I also believe we should proceed with Rowena's new system. It appears to be the best option we have as far as settling our differences, or at the least, learning to live with them." He gave Salazar a pointed look, and the other man nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Agreed," he said, crossing his arms on the table. Rowena's smile grew much wider.

"I am glad," she said earnestly. "Seeing as that is settled, I should like to continue to build even further with the idea, if everyone is amiable?" there were nods of assent around the table. "Fine. We should consider building individual identities for our houses. Perhaps begin with a symbol to represent each house, some sort of emblem or totem…"

"An animal, perhaps," Helga said in her calm, quiet voice. "We could each select one as a symbol of the house, one that embodies the characteristics of it's members."

"Excellent idea," Godric said, "But shouldn't we first decide what those characteristics are to be?"

"Clearly, they will be molded around our own personalities," Rowena said. "Shall we sort this out now, then?" Again, a nod passed around the table. "Very well, we shall make a list." she said, taking up a quill and turning the divided parchment towards herself, "Gryffindor, then?"

Godric was silent, looking to his three companions to list his qualities. "You know better than I," he said genially.

"Chivalrous," Helga said, smiling at her friend. Rowena nodded with a similar smile and wrote it down beneath his name on the page. Then she pursed her lips in thought.

"Bold," she said, "A natural leader." Godric smiled at this compliment from the usually no-nonsense witch. Rowena then looked expectantly to the last founder at the table. "Well Salazar?" she said pressingly. Slytherin made quick eye contact with Godric, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"We are sorting children by these qualities," Godric reminded him, trying his very best not to grin lasciviously. Salazar merely raised a fine eyebrow.

"Brave," he said finally. Godric's eyes widened slightly.

"Brave," Rowena said, writing it down, "I believe that is the heart of it, really. An animal, then, or symbol to represent those qualities? Godric?"

Gryffindor appeared to have been considering this throughout the discussion. "The Lion," he said firmly. There was no contest; it was the Gryffindor lion from that point on.

"Slytherin," Rowena said, sliding the parchment over slightly. "Ambition. Those who are striven towards greatness will clearly thrive beneath Salazar." The dark man looked at his companion with a pleasant and respectful expression. Out of the four founders, Salazar and Rowena were the most similar, and there was an unspoken camaraderie between them.

"Persistence, fortitude." Helga gave a kind look to her friend, who was very clearly an exact opposite of herself. "And, of course, purity." Salazar inclined his head as an acknowledgement and then looked to Godric.

"Cunning," the golden man said. It was clearly one of Salazar's best qualities, as they were all aware.

"That should suffice," Rowena said. "And as for the totem symbol, I believe we are all aware of what that should be."

Salazar opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead let out a long stream of sibilant noises. It was a strange, seductive language, one that none of the other founders could even begin to comprehend. Helga looked helplessly to Godric, as though he might be able to decipher it. He could not, but he turned to Salazar with a raised eyebrow. The dark man smirked nastily.

"I said, 'one would certainly think so, but I am not grasping to any great hopes'." Rowena glared benignly.

"You might have just confirmed by saying 'serpent'," she muttered, penning the choice of totem next to the list of house characteristics. "Very well then… Hufflepuff…"

oooOOOooo

Godric strode easily into Salazar's chambers, throwing off his cloak and draping it over an ornate chair. He was about to call out to his lover when he heard an unfamiliar voice issuing from the sitting room. It was a hard, edgy baritone, tinged with a slightly uncomfortable urgency. Godric narrowed his eyes for a moment at the thought of his lover entertaining strange men in his private sitting room. Ultimately, he trusted Salazar, but there was something unsettling about the sound of that voice. He quietly stomped down those feelings and smoothed down the front of his ornate crimson robes. Running a hand through his wild amber hair, he strode purposefully towards the closed door to the sitting room and rapped on it with his broad fist.

"Enter," said Salazar from the other side, and Godric did, his breath catching just enough for the dark man to notice it before he recovered. There he was, Salazar Slytherin in his very best finery. The man oozed a sinuous, slick power, sitting in a high-backed chair of carved ebony, dark hair shining by the dim lantern light, rich, verdant robes arranged to flow and pool _just so_ over his lithe frame. Godric tried not to leer. Salazar offered him a level and professional smile. It was then that Godric turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. Two dark heads were facing Salazar, backs to the door, seated in similar chairs. Salazar gestured for Godric to come around the chairs so he could be properly introduced, which he did, with an inexplicable feeling of unease.

"Godric," Salazar said with a sort of detached amiability, "May I present Balthazar and Bathsheba Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Godric regarded the two strangers closely. Aside from being of opposite gender they were practically identical, with long dark hair, refined good looks, and piercing slate-colored eyes which were currently narrowed in exactly the same fashion. They were both very richly adorned, the woman wearing a thin silver coronet over her sleek, dark hair. Slowly, Godric nodded politely at Slytherin's guests.

"Balthazar, Bathsheba," Salazar continued, "Godric Gryffindor, co-founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and head of Gryffindor House." At this, Bathsheba Black extended a long, pale hand, and it was clear that she intended for him to take it in greeting. Godric kissed the fine skin as lightly as he could, then straightened again and nodded to Balthazar.

"Delighted," He said, adopting his most sporting grin. "I had not realized you were entertaining guests, Salazar," he directed at his lover. "I shall return at a later time."

"No, no," Salazar said, waving his fingers dismissively at the thought. "Please, Godric, have a seat. We were merely discussing plans for the opening of the school. Balthazar and Bathsheba have generously offered to act as patrons for Slytherin house."

"My sister and I are honored to support the furthering of magical education," Balthazar said loftily, "_And_ the pureblood cause."

Godric responded with a thin lipped smile. "How very fortunate for Slytherin house," he said, trying to sound generous.

"Well," Salazar said with a smile, clapping his hands together in an accomplished manner, "I believe we were just adjourning when you arrived, Godric. Please, Sir and Madame Black, do pass on my best to your parents. Let us speak again shortly." The black twins rose from their seats as the head of Slytherin house came towards them.

"Salazar," said Balthazar, grasping the other man's arm. Bathsheba extended her hand as she had to Godric, and Salazar swooped elegantly to make a show of embracing it. He straightened again, and after a quick nod and two discreet pops, Salazar and Godric were alone.

"You have Patrons," Godric said observationally. Salazar waved his elegant fingers through the air.

"I am merely acquiring some external support for my cause, seeing as the internal support I've received has been noticeably lacking." Godric fixed him with a leveling look. "Stand down, Godric, I am not seeking an argument. Even you must agree that the three of you disagree with my beliefs."

"If I could stand behind you without faltering," Godric said seriously, "I would. I cannot, Salazar, and it is unfair to expect that I would."

Surprisingly, the other wizard nodded his dark head and took a step forward, bringing a slender hand to cradle the larger man's broad face. "I have conceded to that. I expect nothing of you but what you have given, what I hope you will continue to give. That is why I have acquired patronage for my house; so that I need never expect of you the support which you cannot give."

Godric was torn between leaning into the familiar and comforting touch and prying himself away. "It was for us, then?" he asked skeptically. "Not for the furthering of your quest against the Muggleborn? Forgive me, Salazar, if this is a tale that I am hesitant to believe."

Salazar sighed heavily. "Let us not speak of this now. We have precious little time alone as it is, and soon the school will open and we shall be lucky to catch even a spare moment together." He moved closer yet and placed a lingering kiss on his lover's lips. "I should like to make this one last," he said, a smile ghosting over his sharp features. Godric felt himself disappearing into his lover's embrace, and wondered momentarily that he was not afraid of being lost completely. He was coming dangerously close.

"We shall savour it, then," He said quietly. "I, too, would like to stay here a while."

oooOOOooo

"Gryffindor!" Godric turned suddenly at the sound of his name called out in the crowded square. Behind him, he saw a distinguished wizard with a graying yellow beard in very finely tailored robes, walking at a fast, excited pace towards him. Godric smiled widely and held out his hand as the wizard drew even with him.

"Arameus Avante," he said, grasping the man's arm in a formal embrace. "It has been a long time," he said, still smiling earnestly.

"Too long, dear child, in my opinion," The older man said, releasing him. "I have heard great whisperings about your activities of late."

"Such as?" Godric, of course, knew exactly what the man was referring to.

"This… school that you have built," Arameus Avante said slowly. "I should very much like to discuss it with you at length."

"Sir, as a great friend to the Gryffindor family, you are welcome to visit Hogwarts castle at any time. You would honor the memory of my revered father with your presence in my home."

"I have no doubts that you are doing a fine enough job of that without my assistence, young Gryffindor," the man said with a serious tone. Then his face brightened again. "I am on my way to the town center. There is to be a rousing speech there, I am told, on the increasing rift between our society and that of the Muggles. Some rebels arguing the Secrecy Statute ought to be revoked." Godric felt his heart sink slowly. The Avantes and the Gryffindors had been great companions for generations, and he had hoped to forge a greater friendship with his late father's best friend. But was this man, this decent, honest man, against the Muggles as well, just like Salazar? "I, of course," said the older man with a smile, interrupting Godric's thoughts, "Am in complete agreement with them." He shook his head and his cane. "Shall we investagate?"

Godric found himself swept along the dingy street into the even dingy center square of the town. There was a large crowd of mostly younger wizards, a few witches interspersed among them, crowded around a head that rose ever so slightly over the masses. The head turned, and Godric had to check twice to confirm what he was seeing. It was a woman, clearly standing on some sort of platform (although she could still just barely see above the crowd), wearing a ferocious expression on her otherwise very delicate face, and yelling what had clearly been a long and drawn-out diatribe. She wore leggings and a men's tunic beneath an open robe, the clothes fitting her as though she were a young boy. Her coarse yellow hair was swept easily away from her eyes, which skimmed quickly over the crowd, coming to rest on Godric and his companion. A hint of something—Joy? Pride?—ghosted over the lovely face before it returned to it's stormy expression. "Ridiculous, really," she said in a low, hard voice, "_Secrecy Statute_. We have always lived side by side. Why this, why now? And the muggleborn wizards and witches among us, what of them? To be so maligned due to a ridiculous and unnecessary law… it is demeaning, and it is wrong. And we should not allow it, nay, we _shall_ not allow it. There are those who will attempt to purge our society of any trace of muggle blood. Their anger at the actions some members of muggle society have taken towards our people is justified. But their actions, their methods of retribution, are not. They are inexcusable. As long as we are living, let us continue to fight on behalf of those who do not even realize the danger into which they have been born. If we do not… let it be on our heads. Let it be on _all_ of our heads." She stepped down amid a roar from the crowd, a half-outraged, half-encouraged cry, and disappeared. Godric felt his arm grabbed by Arameus Avante, and he was pulled away from the masses to a nearby side street. He was about to ask the older man what was happening when a crack sounded beside him. There stood the woman from the square, the same wildness hanging in the air about her. Arameus Avante looked down at the woman with a proud smile and embraced her with considerably less formality than Godric would have expected.

"I believe I truly broke through to them," She said excitedly, bouncing ever so slightly on the toes of her flat, boy's shoes. "They listened, they reacted. For once, I believe they truly heard!"

"Arethusa," The older man said fondly, gesturing over the small woman's shoulder, "If I may introduce Godric Gryffindor." She turned like a whip being cracked and suddenly Godric was staring her in the face, looking down into the most startlingly green eyes he had ever encountered. He almost shook himself to be rid of the shock of her. "Godric, my daughter, Arethusa Avante."

"A charming and forceful speech," he said, offering his hand. He was surprised when she shook it heartily instead of laying flat her own for him to kiss.

"I have heard of you," she said with a searching look. "You are heading that school. They say it shall yield great things for our society."

"That was our intent," Godric said, an idea forming in his mind. He turned to the girl's father. "Arameus, I wonder if you and the lady Arethusa would accompany me back to Hogwarts castle this afternoon. I have a matter which I feel may be of particular interest to the both of you."


	6. Battles Wisely Chosen

**A/N:** I'm sorry. I told you I'd update once a week, and that turned out to be completely untrue. So much RL. Argh.

Anyhow, I'm making up for it with possibly the longest chapter I've ever written. It should be split up, but with the alternating timelines, I can't do it, so here it is, all in one chapter, ready for your reading pleasure. It's a pretty important one too. After this point, the modern timeline gets a lot more exciting.

I apologize to any American readers I may have in advance for the way I portray Americans in this fic. I'm sure those of you reading this are just about as irate with the current political situation in your country as I am. While I don't intend to slam anyone's politic in this fic, there are a few shots at my neighbours to the south in this chapter, and there probably will be in the later ones as well. This will not be the last you see of Director Rowland.

And before you scream "OOC!" at me, remember that it has been two years since Hogwarts. How much had YOU changed when you were two years out of high school (or elementary school for those of you still plugging away there)? Just keep it in mind.

That's about it! I hope to have the next one up in a lot less time than this one was!

-N

**Chapter 6: Battles Wisely Chosen**

**Summer, 1999**

A delighted shriek rang through the empty main hallway of number 12, Grimmauld place. "Harry!" the same high-pitched voice yelled at top volume. Harry Potter had only a moment to prepare himself before a blur of red launched itself at him and he was nearly bowled over by an armload of Ginny Weasley.

"Hello, Ginny," He said, rather mystified. The youngest Weasley detached herself from him and frowned rather charmingly.

"Harry Potter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," She began, sounding eerily like her mother. "Hardly a single word from you in nearly a year."

"Ginny, we saw each other at Christmas," He said, smiling at her antics. The redhead rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well thank Merlin you have a birthday or we'd only see you once a year," she said, smiling a little in spite of herself. Then she looked him over carefully. "Hm," she said, thoughtful. "You look _good_."

"Ginny," Harry began, sounding belabored. The Weasley girl just shook her head and laughed.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything like _that_," She said dismissively, then took his face firmly between her palms and looked him straight in the eye. Harry was again reminded of Mrs. Weasley. "Harry," she said in a level voice, "I am your _friend_. Please don't think, just because we dated briefly three long years ago, that I want anything more than that. All I was saying is that you look better… Healthier, stronger. And even happier. Would you have gone through the roof if it was Ron telling you that you looked good?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Ron would never be that thoughtful or observant," he said, and then cracked a smile. Ginny let go of him with a light slap to one cheek.

"That's my brother you're talking about," She said, unable to stop the wide grin that split her face. "I'm going to take my things upstairs and get settled. I have it on good authority that my mother and brothers will be arriving soon. Thought I'd give you a heads up." She threw him another smile before disappearing into the upper levels of the house. Harry shook his head and went through the door at the end of the hall. He exhaled deeply as the door clicked shut behind him.

"I take it from the commotion that the Weasley brood has begun to arrive."

Harry grabbed a protective robe and begun to fasten the ties around his waist. "Don't," he said tiredly, "I don't have the patience left in me to defend them to you, so please just don't start."

Severus felt his mouth try to twitch up at the corners, something it had been doing unbidden of late, and at the least opportune moments. "I don't intend to," he said, eyes still firmly on the cauldron he was attending to. "I've no desire to test your limited patience."

"Well that's a welcome change," Harry said, taking up his usual place beside the Potions Master. "How is it?" he asked, looking into the familiar yellowish liquid.

"It should be ready just in time for this month's full moon," Severus replied, giving the potion a final stir before stopping and turning to Harry. "I'm afraid you've suited up for nothing… we're through here for today."

Harry felt a twinge of disappointment but quelled it with the thought of his friends arriving. "Sorry… I meant to come help sooner."

"That's quite alright," the Potions Master replied. "I understand the need to cater to your devout followers."

"Oh, Ha ha." Harry removed the robe he'd just put on over his muggle clothing. "You know, for someone who claims not to have a sense of humor, you sure are _funny._"

"For someone who claims to be so sincere, you sure are sarcastic," was the reply. They were standing beside each other, having both just hung up their work robes on the adjacent pegs by the door, and there was a space of no more than a foot between them. Silence settled heavily over the two men as they looked at each other in what was now a very familiar confusion. This awed silence had been an almost daily occurrence recently, and both men could tell that something—they knew not what—would eventually break it in a way that changed things forever. Harry wondered if he could do it, and then immediately wondered what 'it' was. He supposed 'it' would just come to him, if he allowed it to. _Allow it_, a small, nagging voice said in the back of his mind, and for the first time, he decided to acquiesce. He unlatched himself from his stubborn logic, ready to be guided by this strange feeling.

"Aah!" Harry was startled out of his dream-like state as Severus doubled over with a pained cry, gripping his left arm through his sleeve. Without thinking, he grabbed the other man's shoulders and held him steady.

"He's summoning you?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. Severus nodded and attempted to straighten up. "It's worse than before, isn't it?" the Potions Master fixed Harry with a surprisingly open stare but did not reply. "Severus, tell me!"

"Yes," the older man said in a very tired voice, "It's worse than before." He sighed, hand coursing subconsciously over his covered arm. "I don't know why."

"It's my birthday tomorrow," Harry said. Severus looked at him thoughtfully.

"Yes, that is what I was thinking," he replied. "No doubt he has something planned." He took a flask out of one of the many cupboards and swallowed a generous portion of what Harry knew to be a cocktail of antidotes and protective potions. He turned to Harry with a strangely foreign expression. "I… have to go," He said in an odd tone. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Ditto," Harry replied.

"Harry…" Snape had turned at the door, and was looking at him piercingly. Harry felt the black eyes bore through him in a not altogether unpleasant way. "I am sorry to be missing your birthday," he said quietly. Harry tried to hide his surprise at this strangely thoughtful and tender statement.

"You haven't missed it yet," he said, walking up to the other man and placing a hand ever-so-lightly on his arm. "Go. And come back," he said meaningfully. Severus gave him a puzzling look before shaking his dark head and sweeping through the door and out of sight. Harry heard the door click shut and sank to the floor.

"My god," he whispered to himself, pressing cool fingers against his blazing temples. "Oh my god."

oooOOOooo

The Weasley family had indeed begun to pour in rather quickly, as Ginny had warned him, and by mid-afternoon the whole family had arrived, with the usual exception of Percy, and Arthur who was still at work. Bill and Fleur arrived last, and Harry was still in the front hall, directing Charlie and the twins to their rooms. The fire flared green, and Harry found himself almost immediately enfolded in soft arms and a light, comforting scent. He embraced Fleur awkwardly. Harry had never quite gotten used to his honorary sister-in-law, charming though she was, and her frequent infringement on his personal space. He understood that Veelas instinctively expressed their feelings through touch, and so tried to think nothing of an embrace or a touch to the arm, but it still made him uneasy. In fact, other than Hermione, who was a member of the triumvirate and thus exempt from all his rules, and Ginny, with whom he'd shared more physical intimacy than most anyone else, Harry didn't really like anyone touching him. _At least, not anybody who's willing to_, he thought privately.

Fleur released him, and he felt instantly better. Bill gave him a light clap on the back—which was fine—and an enthusiastic greeting of, "Great to see you, Harry!" Harry directed them to a bedroom and then turned to Ginny, Hermione and Ron, who had come back downstairs and were now standing behind him.

"You guys, I think we're going to have to tone down the celebrations a bit," he said rather seriously. "I have a feeling there may be an attack tomorrow, and I don't want to be caught off guard." Hermione came forward immediately, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Your scar?" she asked, a familiar crease forming between her eyebrows.

"No," Harry said, provoking a surprised look from all three of his friends. "And I'll explain why not later… Snape was summoned earlier this afternoon. I was with him… it seemed pretty bad, and he even admitted to me that it felt worse than usual. I have a feeling it may be something big. So I'm going to have to be alert the entire weekend, in case anything should happen."

"Harry…" Hermione had just finished exchanging meaningful looks with the two youngest Weasleys, and now turned back to him. "We've been talking, the three of us, and we think… well…" She took a steadying breath. "Please don't explode. We were thinking that maybe you should just… just _stop_ taking responsibility for these things. I mean, it isn't your job. I know you have an unfortunate connection to the situation, and I'm sure any help you could give would be appreciated, but as far as taking care of things entirely by yourself, which is what you've been doing…" Hermione ran out of steam and tapered off. Harry just looked at her in disbelief for a few minutes. Ginny was staring resolutely at him, Hermione looked slightly wary, and Ron looked as though he wanted to go hide in the parlor underneath the antique chaise.

"I'm not going to explode at you, Hermione," he said finally, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "It's nothing I haven't heard before… even you have tried this in the past. Which is why you should know that, while I now can appreciate what you three are trying to do, there is absolutely no way I can agree to just sit by and let the ministry handle things. Because they won't. I don't even know if they _can_. So no, Hermione, I won't take it easy and stop taking responsibility. Because that is exactly what everyone else involved has done, and if I give up to, then we're all sitting ducks. So I'm sorry, but until we win for certain, I can't do what you're asking."

"But…" Ron stepped forward, looking almost devastated, "It's you _birthday_, mate! Shouldn't you have at least one day where you don't have to worry?"

Harry couldn't deny that he had thought the same exact thing at least a thousand times. But he simply smiled a little ruefully and said to his best friend, "If I can make due worrying over it now, maybe I can live every day like that somewhere down the line." He started a little when he felt a cool hand slip into his, and looked down to see Ginny smiling supportively at him.

"As long as you're acting like it's your responsibility, so am I. We'll share out duties this weekend, wait up for Snape in shifts, make calls to the order. Whatever you want, Harry."

"Thanks," he said distantly. "Let's go… if your Mum doesn't see me in the kitchen in thirty seconds she's apt to think we've all been attacked."

ooooOOOOOoooo

Harry yawned widely and closed the book in front of him with a defeated look. It was not research, but pleasure reading, a Steinbeck novel about Henry Morgan—Harry loved reading about pirates, although he'd never admit it to anyone—and even that was failing to hold his interest. Despite Ginny's offer to switch out with him over the course of the night while they waited for news from Snape, Harry had insisted on sending her to bed. Part of him insisted that it was for the sake of his friend, who was much less used to long, sleepless night than he was, but another part of him knew it was because he selfishly wanted to be the only one to tend to Severus upon his return.

He reached over to the end table beside his chair and picked up a small glass bottle. He fingered the stopper for a moment, staring contemplatively at the fire, and then took it out and poured a few drops into his tea. He drank the cup down, instantly feeling the effects of the potion in his blood. It was a cousin of the Pepper-up potion, a much stronger stimulant, only prescribed to a very small number of patients who were saddled with magical exhaustion or chronic fatigue. But since Severus was the main supplier to St. Mungos as well as several other wizarding hospitals, Harry had unlimited access. Severus wasn't too happy about him taking it, but Harry figured the world would forgive him a few vices if it meant he could save them from Voldemort.

The fire flared up slightly and Harry, in his increased state of awareness, leapt to his feet. Someone was flooing in. Snape stepped out of the flames. Well, tumbled was more like it, leapt perhaps. At any rate, he almost slammed into Harry, who easily caught his shoulders and kept him upright.

"Are you okay?" he said almost too quickly. His heart was pounding as if HE was the one who'd just made a long floo trip. Snape nodded and righted himself, smoothing his robes.

"I am fine. Harry… I can't stay. They believe I'm returning for an integral ingredient, I have to be as quick as possible or risk exposing everything." He looked straight into Harry's eyes, a look the made every hair on the younger man's body stand on end. "You need to go to the ministry. Now."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "The _ministry_? Why?"

"Because they are going to be attacked at eleven-twenty this morning."

Harry felt the blood pulsing behind his eyes, the unmistakable pressure coming at him full-force. "Alright," he said after a short moment's pause. "I'll alert the Order, and then Hermione and I will go straight to the ministry."

"Yes, it would be best if Granger went with you." Snape frowned slightly. "Don't bring Weasleys."

"I wasn't intending to." Harry wasn't the least bit perturbed by Snape's suggestion that he leave his friends behind… they would be a liability in this case, and he knew it. "Is there more?"

"Plenty," Snape said, sounding more rattled than Harry had ever heard him sound. "At the same time as the attack on our ministry, there will be attacks coordinated on the American Bureau of Magic and the Russian Ministry. The Minister will need to inform their respective leaders as well as organizing a plan of defense for their own order."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Scrimgeour has never believed me before… how am I supposed to make him listen now?"

"It is time to use the order to its full capacity, Harry. If ever you had a reason to reveal the strength of the Phoenix's ties to the ministry, now would be it. Listen to me; Voldemort is planning to almost completely abolish the governments of the three strongest wizarding powers on the planet. He has me making toxic explosives. In addition to the direct attacks, he will be placing these weapons inside the ministry buildings, where if detonated they will silently and efficiently infect and kill anyone who is not taken down by the initial attacks. I will attempt to alter the formulas as best I can, but I had already created the potions when I learned what they were to be used for. You have to make Scrimgeour see reason, and you have to do it _now_." Snape had not lost his composure throughout the speech, but Harry noticed him taking a shaky breath after he had finished.

"I will," he said solemnly. "I'll try."

"I have no doubt that you will succeed." It was the highest praise Harry had ever received from the man. Their eyes locked.

"Severus…" Snape looked stern, but with a hint of something that Harry thought might be regret hiding just beneath the surface.

"Harry, whatever it is, it will wait." Snape looked as though he would reach out to him, and Harry feared that he would pull away at the last minute, as always. So he closed the distance between them himself, his arms slotting nicely around the older man's slender waist.

"You're coming back," he said into the black fabric of Snape's robe. He felt a hand ghost over the small of his back, just briefly, before he let go and stepped back. "Go, quickly. He can't know."

"Harry… be careful." Harry nodded emphatically and Snape stepped quickly into the floo, disappearing in a flash of green.

"The Russians can handle themselves… I've spoken with Tcherov, they've had emergency measures in place for just this sort of thing ever since the last war." Rufus Scrimgeour looked exhausted and harassed, but much to the relief of Harry and the several Order and Ministry members accompanying him, seemed to be handling himself in an exemplary manner. "We have no such security measures, although apparently a great many of our most trusted Aurors are also fully trained by this Order of yours to handle this sort of situation. The Americans, however…" Scrimgeour looked a great deal more concerned at this, "They have absolutely no protocol for handling an attack like this one. Apparently, while the Muggle population of that country is entirely preoccupied with protection against terrorists, the magical portion of their society has never had any need for that sort of preparation. Rowland is in a right state… he insists that we send help right away. Frankly I cannot see any other solution. Potter…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Minister?"

"You will he heading the emergency rescue team in the United States. Seeing as you know the situation best, you have the best chances of being successful on foreign territory. Take whatever aurors you may require, but remember that we _will_ require protection here as well."

Harry stood up from his chair across from the minister's desk. "Minister Scrimgeour… I _can't_ go to America! Not while there's an attack here!"

"Mr. Potter, don't you think I would keep you in London if I had any choice? The only person to thwart Voldemort multiple times… don't think I wouldn't want you fighting on my team. But this is not a selfish battle, Mr. Potter. I am well aware that according to the plan, I am meant to die today. Don't think that isn't a daunting thought for me. But I have confidence in this Ministry, and I am determined that I _will_ last out this day, and many more to follow, at the head of it. However, I am afraid I cannot say the same for the Americans… they can't be trusted to handle this sort of threat, and I am afraid that, should the worst come to pass, it is this Ministry that will take the fall for it. That I cannot allow. And so, Mr. Potter, should you truly wish to go where you are most needed, you will take a team of Aurors to Washington, meet with Rowland, and keep him and hopefully everyone in his administration safe from harm." The Minister stood. "Right away." He locked eyes with Harry and the other occupants of the room could feel the battle of wills brewing between the two powerful men. Finally, Harry nodded slightly.

"Fine," he said brusquely, "but I'll be taking Kingsley Shackleolt as my second in command, as well was whatever team he chooses to assemble. Also, I'll require unlimited license to use any measures necessary in stopping this attack and defending the American ministry."

The Minister for Magic looked nervously at Harry for a brief moment before nodding firmly. "All right. It shall be written up before you leave. Go find Shacklebolt, prepare your teams and get ready to depart immediately."

Harry felt the pounding behind his eyes intensify. "Yes Minister," he said darkly before sweeping from the room.

Harry turned, disgusted, from the magically enforced cage full of hostages, a sick feeling in his gut. The attack had been mostly foiled, a result of quick work and thinking from his and Kingsley's teams, as well as an unexpected level of cooperation from their American counterparts. Their casualties had been few; only three American wizards and one British Auror were dead, with several more sustaining moderately inconvenient injuries. Harry, for his part, was completely untouched, although three men had fallen to his wand, and he was nowhere near the only one to have killed that morning. Harry hadn't heard the official numbers, but he knew for certain that the tally ran much higher on the side of the Dark Lord. In his breast pocket, beneath his battle robes, Harry had the minister's signed decree that he was licensed to perform any and all acts necessary to defend America and Britain against the Death eaters. He would not be tried for those deaths, nor would any of the men who had acted beneath him, at least not in front of any wizarding court. The two ministries were confident that all or nearly all of the death eaters who had not been killed or seriously injured were now laying, petrified, in the cell Harry was now walking away from. He had no desire to see any of the dark wizards in that cage, at that moment or ever, and hoped that the only thing he would hear of them ever again would be the news that they had been sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of their natural lives.

As he turned the corner that would take him out of the hallway where the holding cell was, Harry came face-to-face with Andrew Rowland, the Director of Defense for the American Ministry of Magic. The two battle-weary wizards regarded each other.

"Mr. Potter," Director Rowland said, extending a hand. "You have done this country a great service. For that, you have earned my respect and trust, as well as that of this ministry."

Harry shook the man's hand. "I have done my job," he said very pointedly, "It had nothing to do with your ministry, or mine for that matter. I did not come here today, kill three men and order the deaths of who knows how many others, out of duty to my ministry or yours. I am glad that no great damage was done to your country. It's best if we leave it at that."

Director Rowland offered the younger man a small, knowing smile. "I can tell that you are disenchanted with your Government, Harry," he said carefully. "The United States of America understands the need for people like you in strong leadership roles, something your ministry may never fully comprehend. Perhaps you and I should discuss this matter further… you might consider bringing your particular expertise where they will be appreciated."

Harry fixed the American with a withering look. "I trust the portkeys have been arranged for my team's transport back to Britain?" he said icily. Director Rowland nodded, somewhat stunned at this indirect rebuff. "Good… I'd like to return immediately. I'll wish you good luck, Director Rowland, and sincerely hope that next time, you have more than that on your side."

It took Harry hours to get free from the Ministry after they got back. There had been similar success in both England and Russia, with only marginally higher casualties on the side of the British Ministry than in America. The minister wanted a word with harry, which ended up lasting well over an hour, and that was followed by a lengthy debriefing. It was late in the evening by the time Harry returned to number twelve, Grimmauld place. A solemn Hermione greeted him at the door. After a desperate, almost crushing embrace, she stepped back and fixed him with a worried look.

"Harry," she said carefully, "I've some unfortunate news…"

He felt his stomach drop out of place, and a horrible, sick feeling in his heart. "_What_, Hermione?" He said desperately, a little louder than intended.

"You'll wake the house," She said gently. "It's Severus, Harry."

"No," Harry said instantly, refusing to believe what she'd implied. "You will _not_ tell me that." There was a burning behind his eyelids that he was determined to ignore.

"Will you let me talk?" Hermione admonished. "I am trying to tell you something very important! Before you jump to conclusions, you may want to listen!" She exhaled heavily. "Severus is here, Harry, but he—" Harry didn't stop to hear the rest. He was off like a shot, taking the stairs three at a time to Severus' chambers. He felt a magical snap as he flung the door open and charged into the room. The dark, still figure in one of the armchairs before a dying fire snapped to attention and leapt up, suddenly alert. Harry froze in his place.

oooOOOooo

"You broke my wards…" Snape said, the heaviness of sleep in his voice. Harry charged at him then, throwing his arms around the older man. "Harry…"

"I have never been so terrified in all my life," Harry yelled into the black cloth of Snape's robe. "I wasn't even on this _continent_, I couldn't see you or hear you, couldn't find out what was happening to you, and then Hermione…and I thought you were dead, and I couldn't, I couldn't…" and suddenly he was crying, great heaving sobs that shook his entire body. Shocked beyond comprehension, Snape encircled the smaller man with his arms, pulling him even closer than her already was. "It was too much," Harry managed through his sobbing. "I couldn't st-stand it…"

"Harry, " Snape said, rubbing the younger man's heaving back in a broad circle. "I am fine." He looked up to see Hermione Granger, framed in the open doorway. She nodded once to him and then closed the door gently. Harry continued to sob.

"I'm sorry… I'm stopping," the younger wizard said shakily. He pulled back slowly, as if stalled by reluctance. His eyes went wide. "Severus… what happened?"

Snape touched his own face gingerly, fingers brushing lightly over the long, angry-looking curse burn that ran from below his left eye to the base of his neck. "Bellatrix," he said quietly. Harry's eyes flashed a brilliant, deadly green.

"I'll kill her," he said in a low voice. Snape frowned at the ease and sincerity with which the words were spoken.

"No need," he replied. "She is dead. And the Order, I am afraid, is less a spy. Which may have been what Miss Granger was attempting to tell you when you broke through my wards and barged in here… incidentally, how _did_ you do that?"

Harry seemed puzzled for a moment. "I suppose, since I technically am the master of this house, that I have the strength to break any wards set here. Wait… less a spy?"

Snape nodded. "I made what I suppose you could call a tactical error. Bellatrix has always been suspicious, and she found her proof… it was on me to kill her or be exposed. I decided that, while I'll be useless as a spy now, I'd be no use to you at all if I was dead. I am sorry to have compromised my position… I am aware it was the best thing we had in the way of inside information."

Harry looked angrier than Snape had expected, but when he spoke, it was not at all for the reasons the Potions Master had assumed. "You can't _possibly_ believe that I would be upset over _that_! When you've done so much for the Order? When you almost _died_?" Harry threw up his hands. "Severus, I don't CARE! I thought you were dead for less than a minute, and for that minute it was like _nothing_ in the world mattered except for the fact that you were gone! When you left, I thought it was going to be okay, because I would see you in a few hours after everything was done with and it would be the same as always: we would win, you would come back, and it wouldn't matter that I never got a chance to tell you… to tell you…"

Snape felt every muscle in his body tense as Harry's tirade tapered off into silence. It was as if he _needed_ to hear that sentence finished, even though he was certain of what the younger man had been about to say. "To tell me what," he prompted gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"To tell you that I love you," Harry finished in a vulnerable tone. "I didn't know it until just a little while ago, and I don't know when it started, I just know that I do. You're all I can count on… in a way, that's what you've _always_ been. And all I know is that I don't want to be without you ever again, not even if it's just in my head and only for one minute."

Snape stood staring at Harry, and when the boy's eyes met his, he felt a sudden jolt of feeling, as if he'd been unexpectedly shocked. The sincerity in the vibrant green orbs, still bright in the dimness of the room, was positively leveling. This was not a young boy's crush, Snape reflected to himself. This was a man, grown beyond his 20 years, sharing a love that ran deep and strong. He could feel it in the air around Harry if he reached out beyond his magical barriers. It was like a caress, soothing and enticing. Snape stepped into it almost without knowing. "Harry…" he said softly, "This is foolishness…" his arms went around the smaller man again, and they fit together effortlessly.

"I know," Harry replied in the same quiet, even tone. "But I can't stop it."

"Then… perhaps I should." Snape pulled away with some effort. "This is not something I can allow, Harry," he said, ignoring the heavy feeling in his chest.

He was expecting a tirade of excuses and protestations, not the solemn, resigned face that Harry turned to him. "Severus, I know that," the boy said with a large measure of sincerity. "Why do you think I'm fighting so hard?"

For a moment, Snape was not sure what Harry was referring to. Then a horrified thought entered his mind. "Harry," he said warily, "What do you mean by that?"

"As long as Voldemort is alive, you'll never let yourself even _try_ to be with me. And I won't push you towards it, because I know how stubborn you can be, and to be honest, you're scary when provoked. So we'll just keep ignoring it, exactly as we do now. The elephant in the room, you know? No-one talks about it, but it's obvious that it's there. Out of some misplaced sense of martyrdom, you'll refuse to open up to me, and the worst part is that you'll have all sorts of valid, firm excuses that I can't possibly ignore. But when Voldemort is gone, those excuses will vanish. So yes, Severus, I'll leave it for now. But only with the promise that, when this is done, we can pick up where we left off tonight."

Snape was stunned. When Harry Potter decided to do something shocking, he did it all the way. He hardly registered the other man stepping back into his arms until he was already holding him. It was only a brief embrace, and then the Boy Who Lived stepped back again with a small, almost embarrassed smile.

"So," he said, sounding a completely different person from the firm, reasonable man who'd just rattled off a rather well-thought-out plot, "Now you know."

Severus wanted for the life of him to yell at the boy, to tell him his priorities were the worst he'd ever seen, to call him a foolish, moronic Gryffindor and then expel him permanently from his chambers. But all he could say was "Harry…"

"Don't even say it," the younger man responded quickly. "You can't change my mind. Good night, Severus." And he was gone from the room. Snape thought to himself, with a self-directed scowl, that there must be something wrong with him if he was lamenting the boy having done the exact thing that, two seconds before, he'd been willing him to do.


End file.
